


The Burning Points

by Liras_Leimows7



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Smut, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liras_Leimows7/pseuds/Liras_Leimows7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I loveeee high school fan fics and I hope you do too! So this fic is loosely based on the BBC series, I'm establishing a  johnlock relationship in this first chapter, and I'm a harry potter fan, so I couldn't resist having a castle-like school!! <br/>I also switch from John's point of view to Sherlock's, and I'll be doing that throughout the story by putting stars in between paragraphs so you don't get frustrated by my lack of writing skill. Hope I'm not going too far out with scenery? To make up for it, I’ll have the next chapter up in a very short time.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loveeee high school fan fics and I hope you do too! So this fic is loosely based on the BBC series, I'm establishing a johnlock relationship in this first chapter, and I'm a harry potter fan, so I couldn't resist having a castle-like school!!   
> I also switch from John's point of view to Sherlock's, and I'll be doing that throughout the story by putting stars in between paragraphs so you don't get frustrated by my lack of writing skill. Hope I'm not going too far out with scenery? To make up for it, I’ll have the next chapter up in a very short time.

An hour’s drive out of London stood Cartwell Catholic College, which prided itself on maintaining the reputation of a “School of Excellence” for young men and ladies alike. The boarding school loomed over a quaint town with its huge, three story high brick walls, arched windows, and dark blue slated rooftops giving it the appearance of a gothic castle. Student’s dorms were located on the third story, with common rooms, bathrooms and laboratories on the second floor. The majority of classrooms were found on the ground floor, so the teachers didn’t have to bother lumbering themselves upstairs to teach classes.  
The morning sun allowed the building to throw its shadows across the school grounds, and over the cracked concrete path, which wove away from the school to the front gate. The pathway clicked under Sherlock’s shoes as he strode towards the U shaped school, scanning the parking lot to determine if there were any other students who had arrived a day early to school. Most people wouldn't bother installing a new lock – given that it was against school policy – but then again, most other students didn't own items as expensive as his. The staff let him have his way because he was schools leading academic pupil with razor sharp wit, something which was definitely an advantage. 

Sherlock signed himself in at the office then headed upstairs the stone corridor, his footsteps echoing throughout the empty school. He chose a room overlooking the grounds, with a double bed inside (a luxury only given to senior students) and a ceiling that sloped towards a window hidden behind thick white curtains. He drew them back and pushed the window latches forward, causing the dust motes inside the room to swirl around and dance feverishly. Tomorrow the school walls would echo with the sounds of teenagers swarming the grounds and most likely yelling over one another as they lugged their bags around. As long as they avoided him, he would do the same. Except, perhaps that one boy, John Watson. Sherlock closed his eyes as his chest tightened at the thought of him. He had known John since he started high school, but he wasn't sure if John knew him very well. The boy was pleasant, and over the years Sherlock’s appreciation for the boy had turned into something of a yearning. Sherlock was drawn to him in ways he shouldn't be, in ways a predator would be drawn to beings more vulnerable than itself.  
He could think of all the reasons he was drawn to John, but he could never narrow them down into the defining moment that made him realise how much he wanted him. Perhaps it was as simplistic as finding something so perfect in your own eyes, and wanting to make it yours.  
*  
The following day - first day of school - saw the school grounds buzzing with students by 8:00am; John hitched his bag over his shoulder for the hundredth time that day, eager to be assigned to his new room and settle in already. He pulled his jacket tighter around his striped shirt with his free hand, as he pushed his way to the message board right outside the school’s double doors. He found his name at the bottom of the list next to Tom Walkens, a boy he was now sharing with in dorm ‘325’. He moved away, just as a slimy haired boy knocked past him, leaving John struggling with his over-sized bag. By midday, his small collection of personal belongings were packed away, he had been acquainted with his room mate and was walking to assembly. The whole school was there, dressed in casual attire, for there were no classes today, only students being assigned to their new home room teachers, and a few routine games designed to familiarise the students and teachers alike. Nothing new.  
Within the grey assembly hall, lined with windows so old and foggy they could pass as mirrors, John found a seat next to his friend Mike.  
“John! You looked like you enjoyed the holidays.” He smiled as John took a seat.  
“Yeah, sure did” John lied “Hey, have you got one of the lists for our home room teachers and stuff on you?” he asked.  
Mike handed him a sheet “looks like they were impressed with your grades last year Johnny, they've moved you up to the smart kids club” he said, as John looked over the sheet.  
“Why is that a bad thing?” John asked, noting the change of tone in Mike’s voice.  
“Well, you know, your sharing a class with that Sherlock kid.” Mike nudged his head toward the front of the hall “right weird one he is. Cold as ice, but mad brilliant, I tell you!” Mike chuckled, then added “He’s that one, with the black curly hair.”  
“Oh yeah, right” John said quickly, acting as if he didn’t already know who Sherlock was. The pale boy was seated on a bench lining the wall, his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his mop of thick curls framing his face as he bent his head down, focused entirely on the phone he was texting on. Before any teachers spotted the phone, he slipped it into his dark jeans and leaned back into his chair, stretching his purple V-neck shirt dangerously as he did so. John felt a smile tug at his mouth as he looked away.  
“I bet they kicked another kid out of the classroom to make room for you” Mike grinned, as he stood up. “See you round!”  
And with that, he disappeared into the throng of boys as his name was called out. John felt a pang of disappointment; it was his last year of school and already he had been separated from his friends, and put into classrooms with people who were no doubt superior to him. John sighed upon hearing his name, and moved towards his new home room teacher.  
*  
Sherlock stood outside facing the message board, the last of the sun’s rays warming his back and his tired muscles. He had been tense all day from the moment his ratty-looking teacher had called out John Watson’s name on their home room list. Half of him was furious that he would be forced to put up with this distraction, and the other euphoric half gave in to his curiosity and excitement; he had to know where John’s room was. He glanced at the rooms assigned to those under the surname ‘W’, his pulse had already picked up pace as he read ‘Watson – 325’. Adrenaline flooded him, purely from the knowledge that he now knew what room John was In. Anyone watching Sherlock would have seen a boy nonchalantly straighten up, and casually gaze up at the sky as he walked inside. But Sherlock was impossible to read. He lost no time in counting the bedroom windows along the top floor. ‘Let’s see...315, 320, 325 – there you are.’ He smirked to himself as if he had just uncovered a secret, and slipped inside the doorway, taking the winding staircase as fast as he could. He reached his room and flung open his window, cursing himself for acting so childish in public. John had this affect on him; one moment he was in pure, irrational bliss, the next he was fuming at himself for acting like an idiot. The way he behaved really was stupid. Hoping someday John would belong to him, longing to feel the warmth of his skin, when in reality John was like every other boy, interested in girls, sports and nothing more. Sherlock sighed as he sat down on the edge of his bed and taking out his laptop - wondering what kind of password the school had put on the wifi - when a light knock sounded on his door.  
“Enter.” He called out, his gaze not leaving his laptop.  
“Uhm, s-sorry to disturb you, you’re Sherlock aren’t you?”  
That voice. Sherlock went rigid and turned his head, feeling the blood drain from his face. John was standing in his doorway, one hand hold the door knob, the other clutching a yellow envelope.  
“Yes? ” Sherlock barely managed the word.  
“Ah, well Ms Treck asked me t-to, to deliver this to you since you weren’t at the orientation games or whatever” he placed the letter on the dressing table near the door, his hand shaking ever so slightly. “It’s our itinerary for our things – our assignments, um it’s also got sports carnival things – it’s like a calendar really I guess” Sherlock noticed the boy wriggled his fingers when he stammered slightly, perhaps he wasn’t aware of it.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock replied hoarsely, letting an uncomfortable silence hang over the room.  
John fumbled with a bit of loose string on his jacket “Well, see ya round” he muttered awkwardly, and disappeared into the corridor, shutting the door behind him.  
Sherlock paused as he listened to John’s footsteps fade away, then leapt to his feet, pulled the windows shut, closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose. Yes, it was still there The fresh air had sucked out most of John’s scent, but he could still trap it within his room. Ironed linen, cut grass, and something else, something sweet. So John played sports, and was well groomed with appearances, all of which were already obvious and therefore told him nothing. Among other things, there was his watch, it was aged too much to have belonged to him originally, and was regularly polished to retain its shine. His Grandfathers watch? No, it was a 1980s model to be sure, so father perhaps? Divorced parents would mean John would want nothing to do with the keepsake, but if his father were sick or even dead, then that would suggest why he would want it close by. Did that explain why the boy was always so friendly? Eager to prove to the world he was doing fine, when he really wasn’t? Sherlock shook his head in frustration. Here he was, daydreaming about John Watson, again. If he wanted to get himself together and survive his last year at school, he would have to keep his attitude towards John exactly how he had treated him this afternoon – cold and indifferent - which wouldn't be so hard, considering the boy always made him feel awkward beyond agonizing proportions. Sherlock fell onto his bed and rolled onto his side sulking, for he desperately wanted something that could never be his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever seen a post on tumblr where they show you an old theatre that's been turned into a library? Well it's this one;  
> http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g312741-d317523-Reviews-El_Ateneo_Grand_Splendid-Buenos_Aires_Capital_Federal_District.html  
> I would love to go there someday! But instead, I based the school library on it haha :D

John recalled the bell ringing for class, he remembered Tom patting his shoulder and telling him he’d best get ready before he left, but for some reason he did not react. His dreams were so vivid and would not let him surface, instead filling him with images and sounds...dark corridors with no one left in them, a woman crying somewhere, a locked room at the top of a tower, a dark shape pulling him in, which then materialized into Sherlock Holmes. In his dream, his phone began to ring like crazy, but Sherlock's long fingers reached over and pressed 'Ignore' whilst simultaneously pressing himself against John. His black curls tickled John's neck as Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's neck, holding John tighter and tighter to him. His breath was hot against John's skin, his promises to have his way with John were dangerous. He could feel the boys hardness pressing against him, his arm was being gripped so tightly it almost hurt. That's when the unmistakable pain of his dead arm brought him to reluctantly open his eyes.  
The sunlight hitting his window was too bright. John sat up so fast his head spun.  
He was late.  
The first day of classes and he was late.  
“No, no no, no...” John pulled his shirt on, heart hammering in his chest as he bolted down stairs and along the corridor, hands shaking as he slipped inside the laboratory that matched the number on his timetable under “Chemistry”. His teacher, Mr Stemmings looked up as he entered the room  
“Ah, Mr. Watson I see you've finally decided to join us.” he said, one eyebrow raised. Fourteen heads turned in his direction.  
“Sorry Sir” John's eyes dropped toward the floor.  
“Yes, well, take a seat please. I’ll let you off this once, as this is your first day in advanced Chemistry” Mr. Stemmings gestured his thick sweaty hand toward's an empty chair over to his right.  
John took the seat, settling in quietly next to a timid-looking girl with mousy brown hair. She gave him a small smile and pushed a textbook towards him so that they could share.  
“I'm Molly” she said in a hushed voice “It’s easy stuff today, this is, just do the work from the book and let me know if you want me to help you.”  
John raised his eyebrows “Oh ah, thank you” he smiled gratefully  
The girl continued, clearly paranoid she had made the wrong impression “I'm always paired with Sherlock and he’s always doing the work for me, and you know, it’s good to help out once in a while” she finished on a breathless laugh.  
John kept up polite chit-chat with the girl for the remainder of the class, glad to have made a new friend. This girl was naturally cheerful, and she seemed to be friends or colleagues with Sherlock, which was strange because he had been told the boy was an indifferent sort. John stole a glance at Sherlock and saw that the boys steel blue eyes were locked on him, before darting away in a flash. John looked down at his sheet, the words blurring before his eyes, heat spreading through his legs, the main arteries in his arms and wrists, everywhere...  
Did he know? Could he know that John had dreamed of him, dreamed of a more passionate form of him? No, no way in hell.  
The bell rang somewhere outside of the classroom, swiftly followed by chairs scraping floors, pencil cases being zipped up, items being tossed into bags, then it was onto the next classroom. John wondered how many layers of deodorant he could coat himself with before someone realised he hadn't showered.

*

Sherlock usually spent morning tea in his room, but today he sought out his old lab partner Molly Hooper, sitting by herself in the cafeteria.  
“Molly” he said briskly, taking a seat across from her.  
“Oh hullo Sherlock” she smiled “Haven’t talked to you since school started!”  
“Mm, yes. You’re changing lab partners I see.”  
“W-what? Oh no, no, not really, that John boy is rather nice, he just happened to sit next to me.”  
Sherlock frowned despite himself. He was hoping to extract information from Molly about John’s character, not make her feel like he was offended she’d gotten another partner.  
“I wouldn't mind if you did, I think the teacher was planning to change everyone’s usual partners by the time our assignment started.” he said.  
“Oh, right.” she said, looking relieved as she took a small bite out of her sandwich. “He asked about you, you know.”  
“Did he now.” Sherlock remarked, trying to sound uninterested.  
“Yep; ‘That Sherlock kid, isn't he like the smartest in our grade?’ “ Molly’s gift at impersonations were truly hilarious “I told him you were, everyone knows it anyway.” she smiled.  
“Thank you Molly.” Sherlock smiled back, and glanced down at his watch. In the reflection of the glass face, he a boy with sickly pale skin sitting by himself, gazing with absent eyes at the other students. Sherlock wondered if he could move his watch on an angle so that he could see John instead, but there were too many people getting up to leave. Sherlock sighed and drank the last of his pitifully weak coffee before standing up to move away.

*

The first day of classes had passed in a blur for John. After showering and feeling much more relaxed, he decided to make up for his lateness and head over to the library. He glanced over the sheet of paper his teacher had given him yesterday, outlining the assignments they were due to complete and what they were on. Few students were wandering the halls as John made his way to the glass doors and stepped inside, breathing in the scent of leather, parchment, and the universally recognized smell of ‘new books’. If the entire school used to be a castle of some kind, then the library itself must have been the old theater. The room was circular and vast, with walls of faded gold stretching up to a chandelier nestled under a huge dome. Upstairs, overlooking the library floor, there were once separate boxes with walkways connecting them, as well as an upstairs seating area, which was now cleared out and replaced with thick wooden bookcases and the odd armchair pushed to the back of the wall. A small white staircase, obviously more recent than the rest of the room, connected it to the second floor, which held countless more bookcases sitting on a sprawling thick blue carpet. 

The back of the room was closed off, John guessed it must have been the stage, but these days it was used as a storage room of some kind. He took out his new student ID card and held it against the door which blocked the staircase leading upstairs (another privilege for senior students) and wasted no time in locating the hot beverage vending machine. He selected ‘hot chocolate’ and opened the jar holding marsh mellows by the machine as he waited for the cup to fill up. Grabbing his drink and brushing the sweet icing sugar onto his jeans, John took a careful sip as he walked over to the aisle normally holding books on chemistry, biology, anatomy, just general medical knowledge he wanted to throw himself into. John pulled out a thick volume he recognised, turned to walk to the end of the aisle and saw Sherlock Holmes sitting fifteen feet away.  
John froze. Sherlock had not seen him, he was sitting in a large red armchair, both feet resting on the chair opposite him, with one hand holding up a novel in front of his face and the other dangling over the armrest. John paused for a moment to take in the sight of the boy; with his face turned to the side he could make out the delicate slope of his nose, high cheekbones casting shadows over his smooth skin, and a slender neck wrapped in a dark scarf. John was rooted to the spot, book gripped tightly in his hand, fear flooding through him. Fear? This was absurd! He tried telling himself to go over the boy and say hello - God he wanted to - but he couldn't place the feeling holding him back. John took a few steps forward, just as Sherlock’s head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps, fierce eyes fixing themselves on John’s.  
John felt as if a truck had hit him. He stopped awkwardly, smiled at Sherlock, then put the book back on the shelf, as if he’d just come to the library to return a book, then leave. Quickly.  
He walked awkward out of the aisle, picking up his pace as he fled down the stairs, dumped his drink into the bin and headed towards the exit, roughly knocking someone on the way out in his haste.  
“Oh god, sorry, I'm so sorry!” he exclaimed. The boy raised his eyebrows, straightened out his black tailor shirt then locked eyes with him.  
“Westwood” he said gesturing to his chest. The boy was a foot smaller than John, but seemed to make up for it with his menacing presence.  
“S-sorry” John stammered.  
“Ahh, you’re John Watson aren’t you?” the boy’s voice changed to a soft drawling tone “I used to be in the same class you’re in now, but they moved me” he pursed his lips “told me I got...distracted too easily” he added, the pitch of his voice rising oddly, and with that, he sauntered off.  
John paused, his heart still pounding in his chest, and then left the library without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to horrible Mr. Stemmings for another class URGH! So in this chapter, they’re dissecting rats in biology, Sherlock notices how good john is with his hands EHEHE and John screws something up! This actually happened to me in a science class when I was 13; the teacher put the straw into the rat’s mouth to show us how lungs work, and she inflated it’s entire organs, so gross! So anyway, it’s such a messy disaster that John is sent to the showers to change, Sherlock is like OMG I was I got dirty too lololol. Enjoy!

Sherlock had just seen John standing ten feet away. He had seen those fair cheeks blush as he looked back, could smelt the creamy hot chocolate held in trembling hands, but failed to act on the knowledge that John was near him, and they were alone. Not until John disappeared had Sherlock risen from his chair and ventured after him, eager not to let him get away so quickly this time. As he walked out of the aisle and onto the balcony he saw Johns blonde head disappear, and felt his heart sink.

He had missed his chance, and what was worse, with school starting later on in the week, Sherlock would have to wait out the whole weekend for his chance to speak to John again. Perhaps it was his own stubborn nature that made Sherlock distance himself from the one thing he wanted most, but it never made the dreams go away. Time raced by when John was near, and dragged on aimlessly when he wasn't.

-

The mornings had turned colder still, when Sherlock awoke early in a cold sweat. He had been holding John down, feeling the boy twitch in pleasure, feel him say his name in his dreams. Sherlock sighed ‘In my dreams’ he mused bitterly, grabbing his towel and making his way to the shower to relieve his stiffness. No one else was in the showers at this time in the morning. He breathed in the hot vapours, and imagined John in the cubicle, imagined the hot water running over his naked body. Sherlock gripped himself and felt his nostrils flare. He had to focus, if he didn't maintain himself now, what chance would he have of having a normal conversation with John today? His first class that day was Biology with John, and he was determined not to scare the boy away this time as he had done so many times before. He had doubled back on his plan to ignore him, if this was his last year, he may as well make the most of it and he doubted ever seeing John again once they graduated. The thought gave him an unpleasant feeling. Heavy? Aching? He shut off the water and left for his room.  
Sherlock buttoned up his shirt as he looked at himself in the mirror...just 12 minutes til class, "relax, just relax" he commanded himself. As he descended the staircase and rounded the corridor, he saw John standing outside the doorway to class. The stress was evident on his face – any other day Sherlock would wonder why – but his thoughts drained away to nothing as he watched John run his fingers through his hair.  
As the crowd of teenagers entered the classroom, Mr. Stemming gave John a distasteful look as he sat down. Oh, this must have been why John was so nervous earlier, he feared he was disliked by this teacher, and was probably correct. Stemmings taught both Chemistry and Biology, and from the veins in his neck visibly throbbing away under high pressure, he was one more chocolate bar away from a heart attack.  
“This term, I am splitting you into pairs for your assignment.” Stemmings announced, picking up a piece of paper, and clearing his throat.  
Sherlock smirked. So he hadn't been wrong in predicting the teacher’s actions.  
“John Watson, our latest addition, you’ll be paired with Sherlock Holmes” the teacher began, with a smug look. Sherlock’s head jerked up. He hadn't been predicting that. Clearly, the teacher was still determined to see John punished for the morning he arrived late, and felt that being paired with the socially awkward Sherlock Holmes would prove a sufficient punishment?  
The rest of the class was randomly paired off with instructions, all the while Sherlock's blood pounded in his ears.  
“In these plastic containers are frozen rats. Yes, you will be dissecting today.” He snapped over the groans “One of you will be using the scalpel, the other taking down notes and filling out this quiz sheet.” Sherlock was barely listening, when Stemmings finished with; “Right, move next to your new partner.”  
Sherlock numbly swept his belongings up in one hand and moved to the front of the class to get the equipment. He turned around and made his way towards John, a feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that made him feel like the ground was about to swallow him whole. Molly had left her chair pulled out, and Sherlock took it, smiling awkwardly at John.  
“Hello.” John smiled at him, sending Sherlock’s thoughts into a frenzy.  
“Hello.” He replied, feeling the words catch in his throat. He sat the container down, and when John jokingly volunteered to get his hands dirty, Sherlock made no reply and smoothed out the pages on his book in calming motions. John had an impish grin when he made jokes like that, it made Sherlock want to pin him onto the desk and have him right there. He quickly changed the subject.  
“So, do you miss you old teacher yet?”  
“Not as much as I miss the easier work.” John replied, pulling the cover off the container and wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Oh nice,” he remarked “at least this is a small one.”  
John worked on pinning the animal’s feet down and set the scalpel upon it’s stomach in quick movements. Sherlock could tell he had done this before, and was eager to get the job over and done with.  
“You don’t seem to be phased by the task at hand” Sherlock remarked “any teacher would assume your future to be of a medical career path.”  
“Thank you” John smiled, not taking his eyes off of his work, which was fortunate, as Sherlock’s own eyes were drinking in John’s profile. Yesterday his face had been flushed and puffy from oversleeping. Today, his complexion was clear and fair, the smooth skin on his cheek begging for his touch. Sherlock clenched his hand under the table as John spoke again.  
“You know the reason they cover bodies in surgery is because the human soul can’t actually bear cutting open a body or mutilating it in any way?”  
This trivial piece of information was surprisingly new to Sherlock. Indeed, if he ever had John laid out on a slab before him, covering him up would be the last thing on his mind. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying desperately to clear his mind.  
“Are you alright?” John asked quietly. Sherlock opened his eyes to see John’s warm eyes focused on him, eyebrows raised in concern. “I'm sure they’d let you step outside if the smell is unbearable-“  
“I'm fine” Sherlock cut in, trying not to let annoyance seep into his voice. How was it possible to continue this facade when John was so relentlessly adorable? He snatched up his pencil and began scribbling onto the sheet they had been given. The task was to observe the flow of oxygen into the body of the animal, note which organs absorbed it in order, and then observe it all again through a dull experiment.  
“Right now,” Mr. Stemmings announced “once you have written up the order of oxygen absorption which you think is correct – starting from the lungs, then the bloodstream and so on - I want you to take the straw provided in the container, insert it into the rat’s mouth and blow. This will allow you to see how the lungs function.”  
Sherlock was amazed at how astoundingly pointless the experiment was. The other students seemed either in rapt or horrified by the task. Molly had been paired with a boy named Greg, whose body language toward her was betraying him by the second. Eyebrows raised when he looked at her, triggered by an unconscious feeling of attraction, one foot turned entirely in her direction, his fingers fidgeting with his pencil as he spoke, the list went on... Sherlock noted the actions and made sure he never demonstrated any in the presence of John.  
“Right.” Stemmings called out. “I’ll have you do it in turns. Freddie and Magnus, you start.”  
The rat’s lungs rose unimpressively for a second, then collapsed. Their turn next. Sherlock turned to his partner, only to see John exhaling into the rat’s mouth with far too much pressure than was necessary. The rats’ lungs inflated almost instantly, and then to everyone’s surprise, so did the rest of the organs; each one full of air like some oddly shaped balloon. Several girls in the room shrieked, most of the boys yelled out or laughed. John only looked down in shock, before Sherlock realised he was trying to hide the disgust on his face. His hands were blotched with some of the dead animal’s fluid, red and grey dots had flecked his hands, neck and shirt. John looked at Sherlock apologetically, and Sherlock hated himself at that moment. He wished he had been the one sitting in humiliation right now, instead of John.  
“Mr. Watson, you’re excused if you wish” Stemmings remarked, as the rest of the students rushed over to the desk in hopes the same thing would happen twice. John immediately rose and headed towards the door, bag in one hand.  
“Perhaps a shower is in order” he called out after John, and Sherlock felt like backhanding the teacher for putting such images in his almost frenzied mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a while to write, because I really wanted to capture all the ways in which Sherlock is falling for John. I searched Johnlock on tumblr for hours, getting inspiration from beautiful photosets, to people dissecting various scenes. We’ll start from john’s perspective and move on to Sherlock. No sexy time yet, I just love to tease y’all ;D

John hung around in the warm shower cubicle, savoring the heat before the ventilation sucked it away. Before he pulled his shirt on, he dabbed cologne along his neck and collarbone, to ensure he had gotten rid of the smell of dead meat. Laundry days were Tuesday and Friday, so if he hurried, he might just make it. His sneakers echoed along the arched corridors, when right at the end of the hallway, a door opened to reveal Sherlock, a plastic bag in one hand, keys in the other. John’s hand flew up to catch his attention, when he saw a boy coming from another direction, knock him back on the way past.  
“Where do you think you’re going, faggot” the boy snarled at him, shoving him back and sending his thin frame sprawled against the door.  
The boy moved closer to Sherlock and twisted his hands into his collar, as John broke into a run towards them. Sherlock’s cool eyes were locked on his assailant face, but his whole face shifted when he saw John.  
“Hey knock it off!” John spat at him, coming to a halt.  
The boy – who looked about two years younger - whirled around with a smug look on his face, which turned to genuine surprise when he saw John.  
“What the hell is wrong with you, kid!” John snapped. The boy said nothing, unsure what to do with himself. Footsteps echoed quickly down the hall and the boy rushed off. John frowned at him, then turned to Sherlock, shaking his head.  
“Hey man, you OK?”  
“Fine. Thank you, John” Sherlock's tone was flat.  
John shrugged, still bewildered “Did you know that kid?”  
“No.” Sherlock frowned as he watched the boy run away “He put his hand on his head while he ran, did you see that?”  
“Hmm?” John asked, but Sherlock was staring at the boy who was now out of sight. His gaze fell back onto John, making him unsure what to say next. John wanted to ask if he was okay – if a visit to the nurse was in order- but the boy’s face seemed burning with humiliation.  
“So ah,” John began “The mini assignment or whatever..”  
“I’ve done it” Sherlock intervened.  
“Oh, really? Well, thanks. Sorry I had to leave you to finish the work and all...” John trailed off. Sherlock’s eyes were almost cold as he looked at him, looked right through him.  
“The teacher seemed satisfied with your partake of the workload, all that was left was for me to fill in the rest of the sheet.” Sherlock concluded, retrieving his laundry bag off the floor.  
John’s feet shifted uncomfortably “Yeah, but still. Felt bad...” he raised his eyebrows at the bag Sherlock was holding. “Oh hey, you’re going to go get your laundry done too? I’ll come with!”  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow “Wearing that? Bit cold outside.”  
“No, I'm heading downstairs.”  
“John, laundry days are only done on Fridays now. I was driving to the Laundromat myself.” Sherlock paused, as if weighing the following words “Would you like to come? With me?” John noticed a muscle strain in Sherlock’s neck for a brief instant, then it vanished. John almost hesitated with his answer – it would probably be social suicide being seen with Sherlock – but he could hardly decline an invitation from someone who didn’t have any friends. Because underneath that mysterious bravado, behind the genius, behind those ice cold eyes, something told John that Sherlock was a lonely soul, too proud to admit it.  
“You sure?” John asked with a smile.  
Sherlock nodded.  
“Great! I'm was just heading over to my room to grab the rest of my clothes, meet you outside, yeah?”  
“Of course.” Sherlock said.

*

Sherlock watched John jog away from him, resisting the urge to turn around and bang his head on his bedroom door. “What are you doing Sherlock?” he practically screamed inside his head. He pressed his fingers to his mouth in an attempt to control his breathing.  
John Watson. Spending time with him. Alone. Sherlock didn't know why he had stupidly asked the boy to leave school grounds with him, but when John swooped down on him out of nowhere, water droplets still clinging to his lashes, the smell of spicy cologne wafting off him, he was almost irresistible. On the other hand, he wanted to be the boy’s friend more than anything right now, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity. If Sherlock’s mind were not reeling, he would be aware of a bystander watching him, but he was too busy fumbling in his pocket for his car keys as he made his way downstairs.

He was sitting at the wheel of his car waiting, when he noticed John wearing a faded leather jacket and exiting the school with a laundry bag twice the size of his. John paused when he reached the gate, looked around at the other students loitering nearby, looked out onto the road, then turned and walked back towards the school. Sherlock quickly pushed the car door open and stepped outside, though he was enjoying the John wandering around like a lost puppy.

“John! Over here!” he called out. John’s head whipped around, and he all but gaped at the sight of Sherlock’s car. Sherlock sat back down inside the car, thoroughly amused by John’s display of emotions as he ran over and opened the door.  
“Is this your car?” John was either impressed or intimidated.  
“My housekeeper’s.” Sherlock corrected. “She owes me a favour.”  
John chuckled with surprise. “Sure this falls under favour, or is it more blackmail?” He joked. Sherlock smirked at how spot on John was, but said nothing.  
“Why do you stay at the school overnight, if you can just drive home everyday?”  
Sherlock swapped ‘no one disturbs me at school’ for “I don’t exactly live around the corner.”  
“Ah, unlucky. I'm only twenty minutes away, but it’s a hassle for mum to come and get me.”  
Sherlock noticed how John referred to his mother alone, and not ‘my parents’.  
“So,” John continued “how far away are we going?”  
“Not too far, don’t worry. I just hate walking.” Sherlock felt he was being too silent, “especially in this weather.” he added. A voice echoed in the back of his mind _'But if it were up to me John, I’d take you back to my place...'_  
“Oh god I know, it’s horrible!" John replied "You know for school holidays, the Young Cadets program is dragging us out to the fields? Supposedly there’s a training camp there.”  
“Why are you enrolled in Young Cadets?  
“I'm hoping I can get a scholarship next year. If I can get a degree by signing my life away to the army,” John grinned half-heartedly “it can’t hurt to try.”  
Sherlock’s made much more effort in small talk until they arrived at the Laundromat, in an attempt to block his visions of John in white uniform.  
He still couldn't believe after so many years of never speaking a word to John, the boy was taking car rides with him around town, sharing classes with him and even saving him from assailants; this was possibly every high school girls perfect love story. 

Except Sherlock was not what John wanted - and he wasn’t just taking sexual orientation into account - he knew that he was a very different person himself. He had watched people alienate him in the past, it had been a relief in almost every circumstance, but part of him dreaded the day John grew tired of Sherlock's many indifferences He felt a sense of fear grip him, and thought of it no more as he pulled up to the curb.  
John, carrying both their bags, pushed his forearm against the door frame, sending it swinging inwards and sending a rush of warm air out to greet them.  
“I'm not surprised you come here instead of using the school Laundromat,” John said, dumping their bags onto a bench and fishing in his wallet for his pocket, “the one at school is like a dungeon, I swear! I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Anz hurled her victims down there for detention.”  
Sherlock laughed and had to agree. Mrs Anz, their math teacher, largely resembled a toad, and how she got her teaching degree was a mystery to him.  
“She pregnant now, you know. Going on maternity leave soon enough, so you can rest assured you won’t be tormented by her much longer.”  
This news seemed surprising to John “She’s going to give birth to some demon spawn?!”  
Sherlock laughed at how quickly John could make a joke out of anything.  
“Well, yes, if the IVF goes according to plan.”  
“How did you know that? I bet none of the teachers know that!”  
“Obvious. I noticed when she attempted to use the smart board, possibly because she stopped using nikko pens to write on the white board; a sign of sensitive smell. The clothing she has worn for a month is loose. Too loose for a woman so early in the pregnancy to be minding what she wears, but loose enough to suggest she has some kind of wound around her stomach from the injection. Long sleeved blouses to hide puncture marks on her arms from injections, which she keeps scratching, suggests she has to constantly visit clinics to monitor her bloodstream. She’s started wearing flat shoes with expensive supports to lessen the effect of varicose veins, though I don’t know why she’d bother, her cankles are already abnormally large.” Sherlock sniffed, and paused.  
His blood ran cold as he realised John had gone silent.  
“That’s incredible!” John was practically gaping at him.  
Sherlock paused, “Really?” he exhaled, unaware that he had stopped breathing when he realised John was staring at him.  
“Seriously! Can you do that to anyone?”  
“Do...what?”  
“Like, find out anything about them?”  
Sherlock shrugged in response, but he saw John’s eyes positively shine in wonder and he kept going. He pointed to the man across the street cutting his lawn and explained the obvious marks on his clothing indicated he studied biology, and the way he was trimming the hedge indicated that he was intending to ‘accidently’ bump into someone of interest on their way home. A woman jogging by was left handed and only has part-time work. A elderly man walking with a cane was once very skilled in upholstering furniture, and suffers from a bad shoulder due to years of hard work.  
Sherlock continued to appease John for nearly an hour, and then well after the washing was done. John was “mind blown” by Sherlock, and kept him laughing by making jokes about how Sherlock came to each conclusion. By the time they had driven back to school and walked through the front gate, they were talking and laughing as if they had known each other for years. 

Sherlock had learnt to sharpen his mind more over the past weeks. It was difficult trying to deduce facts and trying to see what others missed when John was always right there with him, always making his mind short circuit, sending shivers up his spine when he came too close for comfort, or just making him forget whatever was about to say.  
But John seemed to like talking to him more and more, mistaking his attraction for absent-mindedness and it was a facade Sherlock was happy to keep up, if it meant being able to make John smile at him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas xoxo

The nights never seemed to get warmer as another month of school dwindled away. Their first two week break was starting tomorrow, and John would be spending most of it camped out in a freezing, muddy field somewhere away from civilisation. He scratched his forehead with the tip of his pencil and stared bleary-eyed at the textbook balanced on his knee. There was a desk in the room large enough for Tom and himself to share, though John was quite happy sitting on his bed. He snapped his book closed and began to stretch out, when suddenly his door was flung open by Sherlock.  
John jumped at his entry, even Tom looked up from his desk with eyebrows raised at the tall boy. As soon as the door had opened, the room was flooded with the shouts of students in the hallway.  
“Sh-Sherlock? You ah..ok?” John asked.  
“Oh, it’s not you. That’s a relief” Sherlock remarked, then disappeared from the doorway.  
Voices bellowed out into their room; John and Tom glanced at each other dumbstruck, then leapt towards the door to get outside. A fight had broken out among two blonde headed boys in the middle of the corridor, and a crowd of teenagers had formed a thick barricade around them, making it impossible for John to see who was involved as he and Tom ran towards the crowd.  
“Who is it?” Tom yelled over the noise.  
“Dunno-“ John yelled back, then stopped. One of the boys – the one who was putting up a fight did seem familiar, his pointed face, fierce eyes, though John couldn't place it.  
“BOYS! Stop this right now!” Principle Rotch’s voice bellowed from the far end of the hall, veins bulging in his skinny neck as he pushed himself through the crowd. All the commotion had drawn a few more teachers, catching children who were cheering, and sentencing them to detention. Tom and John split up and ran; John ducked under a teacher’s outstretched arm and fled around the corner, towards one of the classrooms where three other students had just disappeared into.  
Hide in the classrooms til the teachers cleared off? Clever, thought John. He furiously rattled the next door down, and to his relief, it was unlocked. He ducked inside, keeping the door open a crack, as two house captains ran past. A boy in a dark coat skidded around the corner – John didn't need a second glance to tell who the ridiculously tall figure was – he jerked the door open, grabbed the back of Sherlock and pulled him inside. One hand slammed the door and locking it shut, the other gripped Sherlock’s coat so he didn’t fall. What he wasn’t prepared for was Sherlock’s immediate reaction.  
Shrugging out of his coat with cat-like reflexes, Sherlock twisted around and came at John with one arm pressed up against his throat, the other curled around his wrist. His could feel the blood pulsing through Sherlock as their wrists pressed against each other, could feel his breath, and struggled against him. The lights were switched off, and the curtains had been drawn, so John knew Sherlock hadn't recognised him. Sherlock’s arm pressed further against John’s windpipe and he snarled something at him, but John could hardly hear over the blood pounding in his ears, the panic gripping him.  
He let go of Sherlock’s coat and tried using his free arm to shove him away, but it only agitated Sherlock more. John gripped the arm Sherlock was using to choke him and pushed as hard as he could, but Sherlock was surprisingly strong, his taunt muscles constricted deviously under his uniform. He tried to bring his legs up to kick Sherlock – he was running out of air now – but Sherlock anticipated it and use the advantage of height to press his knees into John’s thighs, trapping him against the wall.  
“Oh for god’s sake” John fumed to himself, and brought his head forward to collide with Sherlock’s. Sherlock released him, and fell back as John collapsed onto the floor, clutching his throat and wheezing as he closed his eyes in relief.  
His relief was short lived; John felt one hand lock around his throat, the other brought his arms over his head, effectively pinning him there. John’s eyes bulged open to find Sherlock over him, his thighs pressing against either side of John’s chest.  
John rasped against the pressure “Sherlock?”  
John swore he saw Sherlock’s bottom lip quiver as his eyes came into focus, mere inches from his own face. Then he snapped out of his shock, releasing John and taking a few steps back.  
“I-I wasn’t, I didn’t realise it was you. Just now. I'm sorry.” His eyes were fixed on the ground in what looked like shame.  
“Jesus who were you expecting?” John had to laugh as he leaned forward and rubbed his throat, “Are there many people hanging around, waiting to ambush you and beat you up?”  
Sherlock looked back at him darkly.  
“Relax, buddy, it’s ok” John coughed again “if I were pulled into a dark room, I’d probably be fighting for my life too” A moment passed where there was no sound, just John breathing deeply and trying to muffle his coughs.  
Sherlock cleared his throat quietly “One would try to...immobilize their attacker.” he trailed off as his gaze darted towards the window “Get down!” he hissed, just as a shadow passed by, then another.  
“You know” John whispered back “We were going at it pretty rough Sherlock, if they didn’t hear that, then I think we’re safe”  
Sherlock said nothing.  
A few minutes passed as they both crouched in the darkness, not daring to speak. John could hear the voices outside gradually decreasing, until it was just the sound of Rotch yelling about ‘disgusting behaviour’. It hadn’t taken long for the fight to break up.  
“I’ll go out first, and let you know if the coast is clear” Sherlock whispered as he stood up.  
“Nah, I’ll just-“  
“No let me, the teachers wouldn’t give me detention for anything” Sherlock reminded him with a sly smile, his eyes flashing the colour of silver as he moved past John.  
“Text you when it’s clear.” He whispered at John reassuringly. For a second, their eyes held in the darkness, then he disappeared through the door like a ghost. John exhaled slowly and slumped back down against the wall, his heart still hammering in his chest. He raised his wrist into the light and traced the faint outline of Sherlock’s hand.  
Sitting there in the darkness, he realised that Sherlock had ducked into his room earlier because he wanted to be sure that one of the blonde boys in the fight wasn’t him. He chuckled at the thought of someone like Sherlock trying to break up a fight. Sherlock had amazing reflexes, but he did not posses brute strength. His phone flashed at him.

\- Coast is clear. See you in class. SH.

It took a second for John to realise he didn’t remember giving Sherlock his number.

When John returned to his room, he found Tom standing outside it.  
“Hey buddy, glad to see you’re alive” he called out at him. “I’ve locked myself out, hope you’ve got a set of keys on you?”  
John frowned as he fished them out of his pocket. “You didn’t even lock it behind you.” He turned the key in the lock “Did you?”  
The door swung open and John felt his stomach lurch at the sight before him. Both mattresses were overturned, drawers emptied onto the floor, a few items looked like they had been thrown across the wall: the damage wasn’t severe, but it looked chaotic nonetheless.  
“Jesus Christ, what the hell!” Tom exploded as he entered the room.  
John ducked back outside, managing to get one of the teachers attention in the crowded hallway. He couldn’t believe the amount of bad luck he was having today, on a Friday afternoon of all days! He should have been packing his clothes away for the weekend, but now he had a mess to clean up instead, not to mention he would have to double check to make sure all his belongings were in tact.  
Two of his teachers came to inspect the damage and asked if either of them suspected another student capable of this, or if they knew anyone with a personal vendetta against either, but the both of them hadn’t the faintest. John didn’t exactly know how to reply when the teachers asked where he was when the damage had occurred, but he hoped “outside” would suffice. Besides, both of them looked as though they would much rather not deal with the problem and focus on the upcoming school holidays instead.  
John typed a quick text to Sherlock as Tom began to overturn his mattress.

\- Someone went ballistic n trashed my room!! wtf is going on in this crazy school.

\- Be there in 5. Someone was in my room too. SH

“Where did you go after the fight was broken up?” John asked Tom after the teachers had left.  
“Just did a full circuit around the school. Would’ve come back here but there were too many people in the way.” Tom’s head jerked up “No fights outside?”  
John frowned at Tom’s strange remark, then turned to see Sherlock in the doorway.  
He felt his pulse pick up again “Did your place get ransacked too, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock nodded in reply. “What did they take from you?”  
“Not sure yet...”  
“Anything moved or missing that you find suspicious?”  
“Like what?”  
“Like personal belongings, things you hide, computer files, anything at all”  
John frowned “I don’t think anyone touched my laptop” he looked over at his desk. The screen was dark, everything seemed untouched.  
“Yes...yes, they did.” Sherlock said quietly as he walked over to it, cocking his head “The chair has been raised a few inches taller than what you would normally have it, the cord of the mouse is twisted – you rarely touch it – so I'm guessing the culprit switched it to the left side because they’re left-handed themselves.” He looked down at the keyboard, then back at John “What’s your fathers’ birthday?”  
John felt his jaw drop; could Sherlock have guessed his password so easily? “How did you?...”  
“Same way I know the culprit has possibly stolen your watch, overturned your”-he nodded at Tom-“mattress for your alcohol, and is stashing it outside the school as we speak.” Sherlock concluded.  
John noticed the dumbstruck look on Tom’s face and couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride towards Sherlock swell inside him.  
“Jesus,” Tom breathed, running his fingers through his hair “what are you, private detective? Do you think you could find any of those things? Get them back?”  
“I could, but I'm not going to risk leaving the school to search for them now, under the eye of every teacher.” Sherlock remarked. “Besides, I have a break in of my own to report.” He stopped in the doorway before looking over at John "Best make sure there's no virus on your computer. Afternoon."  
And with that, Sherlock swept out of the room. Tom looked at him with an expression that said “What the hell?”  
“Yeah." John said. "He’s always like that.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away for so long! xx

Dusk had set. From the way Sherlock’s breath curled the air in front of him, he knew a fog would be setting in nice and thick tonight. Despite the cold, he kept pacing the grounds below his room, hoping to find a particular item that the intruder had thrown out of his window, but he was having no luck. It seemed the intruder knew exactly what they had wanted from Sherlock, which gave him a sense of excitement. Someone had it in for him – someone had been careful in their attack – and had covered their tracks in a way that made Sherlock even more eager to track them down.  
He wandered further from the school and stopped at the fountain near the gate, narrowing his eyes at the still water. Nothing glinted back at him. Should he come back in the morning? The water began to ripple in the breeze, which flicked the edges of his coat, and scattered leaves around him as he circled the fountain. He sniffed disdainfully and looked up to find the smiling face of John walking around the fountain towards him. Sherlock’s felt his pulse pick up, and he dug his hands deep into his coat pocket in an attempt to disguise his agitation.  
“Can’t sneak up on you.” John chuckled.  
 _“I beg to differ”_ Sherlock thought.  
John looked back at the school, then back to Sherlock. “What are you even doing out here? Don’t you have a break-in to report?”  
Sherlock looked back down at the water in an attempt to narrow his thoughts.  
“I think an item of mine was thrown out of my window. I wanted to look for it before it got dark.” Sherlock managed over the hammering in his chest. The sensation grew stronger the closer John walked towards him. He could already feel his hands starting to shake, and kept them buried deep in his pockets.  
“Me too!" John almost shouted in reply "One of my plaques from swimming got smashed as it hit the pavement outside, and some of my medals from cadets were thrown out as well! Bloody lunatics, hey?”  
Sherlock frowned “Do you think the culprit goes to cadets with you? A jealous move, trashing your personal achievements, wouldn't you say?”  
“I hadn't really thought of that,” John remarked, rubbing his chin “what did they throw out of yours anyway?”  
“Car keys.”  
John paused, his mouth slightly open. “Are you serious? The black car? Is it still here?”  
Sherlock nodded.  
“Oh that’s a relief. Are you gonna wait around then?”  
“What for?”  
“See if they rock up!” John grinned at him “Then pound the shit out of them, like you did to me, and hide the body in an abandoned warehouse.”  
Miraculously, Sherlock was able to hear more than “pound”...“me” and something entirely different dawned on him  
“Hide it in an abandoned warehouse” Sherlock repeated.  
“Sorry?”  
An idea hit Sherlock, he turned on his heel and made his way towards the road. He heard John yelling behind him, but the rush of adrenaline kept him moving.  
“Sherlock, where the hell are you going?” John caught up with him in no time. Sherlock may have longer legs, but John was far more athletic.  
“Somewhere abandoned. Somewhere you would hide loot if you knew teachers would be inspecting every room in the school.”  
“Yes, great, but where would that be exactly?”  
“No idea.”  
“So we’re just going to run around all night looking for a vacant lot, break in and hope no-one catches us?”  
Sherlock smiled at the idea of running around with John.  
“Precisely.”

Night had just about set in, any clouds covering the sky had drifted away, while far below the lampposts began to blink into life. They had walked almost half a mile from the school, but most of the places they tried to enter were surrounded with high fencing, or had too much security. As Sherlock had predicted, a thick fog had crept into the midst of the town, and slowly but surely it worked its way around them. As it grew thicker, john walked closer to Sherlock, glancing around every now and then in a paranoid state.  
Sherlock couldn't help but smile “No-one’s going to catch us you know.”  
Two figures, wandering around, dressed in dark clothing? I think we might just might draw some attention.” John huffed. “Can we at least stick to the shadows?”  
“Of course.” Sherlock replied instantly, grateful for any opportunity to lure John into dark places. He clenched his jaw and adjusted the tightness on his gloves, trying to control those urges, those burning thoughts that clawed through his mind whenever john was around.  
“What about that one?” John pointed to an empty house at the end of the street. No car was parked in the garage, and no light was left on.  
“Worth a shot” Sherlock shrugged. “I still think we should come back to that car yard though.” The streets were quiet, echoing their footsteps and voices, as they gradually slowed to a walk.  
“We really should be careful” John warned him.  
“Are you always so quick to assume danger is near?” Sherlock shot back.  
“Hey now, I have a sister who just started high school” John laughed half-heartedly “I'm used to turning scenarios into possible deathtraps, if it means she will stay out of trouble.”  
“And is that helping much?”  
“No.”John replied. Sherlock heard john’s tone drop, and he didn't pursue the topic.  
“Well I mean, how much trouble could she get into, right? But still, you want them to have the best start and all..."  
"You've got your own future to worry about as well, remember." Sherlock said quietly. "That should be your parent's job, not yours."  
"Mum's a nervous wreck, and Dad's always in and out of hospital" John said, almost matter-of-factly  
"Heart problems?"  
"Liver problems."  
"Cancer?"  
"Alcohol." John rolled his eyes "Seems daddy partied a little too hard in his early days, poor bloke." he chuckled.  
At least the situation wasn't as severe as Sherlock thought. When it came to his sister, John was probably overprotective of her because he didn't want her to turn out like her father. Sherlock ran the faces of all the first year students through his head. He sorted them by height first, then by different areas the groups of girls liked to hang out. His mind was suddenly consumed with the need to find the face of John's relative, but why?  
"Do you have any brothers or sisters as well?" John asked  
"None that I'd care to mention" Sherlock replied, pressing his fingers to his mouth.  
John slackened his pace for a moment and gestured towards the nearest house with no lights on.  
Sherlock didn't even need to look twice "No, keep going."  
And just like that, his mind took a different turn as he began to imagine what other scenarios he would use that choice of words for. 


	7. Chapter 7

Jim sat in his room, his dark eyes flicking over the medical records on his computer screen. A door opened softly behind him.  
"All the searches have been completed.”  
Jim sighed heavily and drew his gaze from his laptop. The screen left a glare in his eyes as he gazed at the thick glass separating him from the dark world outside. His plan had worked well this afternoon; every move, every diversion and every disguise had played out so perfectly in his favour, he was almost disappointed that not one person had suspected him - or his companion- of foul play.  
"I love the texture of that glass." said the voice behind him "It's so uneven, you'd think you were looking through the surface of water, and into another world."  
Jim smiled at the description "And yet, for all it's simplistic beauty, it was placed there to create a false sense of security. One wrong move, and it could smash to pieces." Jim turned to face him, just as they both heard a sharp _beep!_ go off somewhere. Sebastian looked at him questioningly, ready for his next order.  
“We don’t have to go anywhere.” Jim smiled at him, and raised a phone to his ear.

*

John noticed the house right at the end of the street before Sherlock did. The lawn was several inches too high, the “For Sale” sign had obviously been there a while.  
"Perfect" Sherlock breathed.  
John looked at Sherlock, looked at the house, then back at him "You don't really think someone would chose a house that's for sale? Oh come on Sherlock, really?"  
"Why not? Anyone can wander into an abandoned house and steal what's already stashed there. To the average criminal, this house says 'Stay away I might already be occupied' however, our criminal knows that if it was scheduled for an open inspection, you'd have to get that lawn cleared up first. Once you see he front being tended to, you know it's time to get in there before the real estates come along."  
"Huh." John said, hands on his hips. "Carry on."  
A crumbling – literally crumbling – brick wall threw itself up around the house to protect the miserable estate inside. John could see the two story house (three if he counted the attic) gape at him and he felt an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. The white wash paneling had faded, with cracks growing almost everywhere, engraving their patterns with dark mold. Thick curtains hid whatever was behind the windows, some of them held a small balcony that would have once been covered in lush greenery.  
Sherlock ran ahead of him and cleared the gate in one sweeping movement. John felt a pang of jealousy as Sherlock’s legs sliced through the air, propelling him forward, the other clearing the iron bars and landing neatly on the matted ground.  
“Show off” John, grumbled loud enough for Sherlock to hear, and heard the deep chuckle of his voice in return. With much more effort, and a few loose bricks added to the pile near the wall, John clambered up and over the wall, Sherlock watching him the whole time, his white face pressed between the blackened iron bars  
“I think we might have the right house. Those bricks there on the grass, they aren't exactly covered in weeds like everything else in this place. Whoever is stashing the loot here, must be about your size.” He paused, and John could almost feel Sherlock’s eyes raking over him, probably calculating his height. John grunted as he landed with much less grace than Sherlock had “We can’t all be as freakishly tall as you Sherlock, I wouldn't go around interrogating everyone at the school who is my height”

He followed Sherlock as he walked around the wooden veranda, leading to a sliding door at the back of the house. Sherlock pulled out a torch from his coat and pointed it at the handle. As he clicked it, light burst onto the door frame, showing it was open, by just an inch.  
“They’ve used a pocket knife to jimmy the door open John, see?” John saw the slight scratch marks on the wood and realised he was dead right. Sherlock looked down at John’s hands, which lacked the soft leather gloves that covered his own.  
“Don’t touch anything you think will leave a fingerprint, okay?”  
John nodded, and followed him into the house.  
John pulled out his phone and turned up the brightness to help light up the room. Walls of creamy yellow were covered in dust and cobwebs, which all seemed to gravitate toward the wrought iron chandelier hanging in the centre of the lounge area, proudly dripping in dusty crystals. Dark floorboards ran from one end of the room to the other, and to their left, a staircase led upstairs.  
“Right” John cleared his throat “All the rooms need work, where do we start? “  
“In whatever rooms the builders or contractors won’t be poking their noses into.”  
“So the rooms that don't need renovating, I suppose?”  
“Precisely.” Sherlock exhaled, and with that, they proceeded upstairs, John keeping close to Sherlock.  
The rooms were stripped bare, and there was something haunting about the place; like the occupants had taken everything and fled. From the tiny cramped attic, to the walk-in wardrobes, then the master bedroom, and it’s adjoining bathroom, it only took Sherlock one look inside the rooms before he paused and slammed the door shut each time.  
“Sherlock, are you sure you don’t want to inspect the rooms more thoroughly?”  
“We've covered every room” Sherlock exploded, ignoring John’s suggestion. He huffed angrily as he stalked back down the hallway and practically stomped down the stairs. He paused halfway down, eyes raking over the house once more, then he turned back towards John  
“We either try the next house we find, or go home and try again tomorrow night, your call.” Sherlock rested on the banister as he waited for Johns verdict.  
Well tomorrow I'll actually-” John broke off in mid sentence with a yell. In one split second, Sherlock was standing, his eyes fixed on John, the next, the floorboard he was standing on creaked under pressure and gave in.  
His hand shot out to grab Sherlock’s the other gripping the banister, his shoulder screaming in protest. He met Sherlock’s eye. Then he watched as his glove burst at the buttons around his thin wrist, and he fell through the floor.  
“Sherlock!” John gasped, as his arm snapped back. He couldn't explain the horror that was flooding through him. “Sherlock, _NO!_ ”  
His desperate cries were met by a groan of pain.  
“I'm fine John. Good news, though, I found the treasure.”  
John couldn’t help but laugh in relief as he heard Sherlock shuffling around.  
“Can you get out again?”  
“I’ll try” he replied.  
John made his way down with caution, and ran over to the where the cupboard under the stairs had been hidden. He pulled aside a large sheet of plasterboard leaning against the staircase, and Sherlock’s smiling face appeared, car keys dangling off of his finger.  
“You wouldn’t happen to have my glove would you?”  
“Sure you can’t find another pair in here?”  
“No, our suspect isn’t too concerned with fashion, I'm afraid.”  
The objects in the room had obviously been thrown in at a last minute effort, as they were strewn all over the floor; pocket knifes, baseball cards, cables, wallets, jewelery, even some paper work.  
“Should we take this all back with us?” John said, eyeing off the files and wondering if some of them contained school exams, or student files.  
“No. We would get blamed for it almost certainly, trust me.” Sherlock paused, and John swore he saw the blood drain out of his face. “Listen.” He hissed, clicked his torch off, and made his way over to the window. John watched without breathing as his silhouette moved over to the curtain.  
“Sherlock, what is it?”  
“Police. Someone knows we’re here”  
“What do we-?"  
“Run!"

Sherlock bolted from the window towards the door they had come through, neatly grabbing John's wrist and pulled him along as he flew past.


	8. Chapter 8

The red and blue lights of the police vehicle began to flash outside.  
Sherlock had not anticipated his night would turn out like this. He did not anticipate falling through a floor, or now being on the run from the police. He had not anticipated being unable to stop himself from grabbing John’s wrist as he ran out of the house, John trailing behind him. Most of all, he had not expected John’s hand to automatically curl around his own and hold on tight as they ran. He led them into a thicket covering the tiny wire fence at the back of the house and they broke apart as they launched over it. They ran and ran and ran, John blindly following Sherlock, their footsteps pounding away in time until they reached the road that he was familiar with. John leaned forward gasping, trying to catch his breath.  
“if you’re trying to get away with a crime” Sherlock puffed “Try to put as much distance between you and the crime scene as possible.”  
“Are you making that up?”  
“Mostly, yes.”  
“Where are we anyway?”  
Sherlock smiled “In the right place for a late night snack.”  
Another block down was Flinders Street, the town’s idea of a nightclub strip. Luckily for them, it had more kebab shops and hotdog stands, than it did pubs. The smell of fried food wafted over to them, shrieks and distant yells became closer as they walked through a parking lot and onto the street sidewalk. John’s hand brushed Sherlock’s once or twice, and he desperately wished he could hold onto him again.  
He had been lucky tonight, but the more he got to know John, the more careful he had to be. Any false move, just one step too far could undo everything. It wouldn't just be like losing a friend, at this point, it would be like losing everything. The timeless conflict of not knowing whether to stay friends and keep things the way they were, or take a chance and try to turn a friendship into something more. But he knew without a doubt John wouldn't want anything to do with Sherlock, if he found out his true intentions. Sherlock was fine with the rest of the world not wanting anything to do with him, but John deciding to do the same?  
A sensation of fear hit Sherlock for the first time that night.  
“So.” John said gleefully, unbeknownst to Sherlock’s inner dilemma “What’s for dinner? I’d kill for a kebab.”  
“I'll buy you one.”  
“Nah, it’s fine.”  
“Please allow me, without you my car would be long gone by now.”  
John laughed as they made their way over to the first sign they saw with the word ‘Kebab’ on it. John placed his order, and Sherlock leaned over with a note in his hand.  
“Wait, wait!" John placed his hand on Sherlock’s arm. "Aren’t you going to order as well?”  
“Erm, same thing he’s having.” Sherlock said quickly. “But no onion.”  
"Winner, winner, chicken dinner." John elbowed Shelrock, as they took their tickets and went to find somewhere to sit, where no one would bother them. They stayed near some overturned chairs that had been stacked on the tables outside, as they watched the entertainment of the evening. Grown men staggered into venues lining the street, girls bounced out of clubs, trotted along in high heels, and into the next club. People on the street screeched at each other in drunken slurred words, on woman with a birthday sash around her began to throw up on the pavement. Music pumped it’s way into the street, and the smell of spilled liquor was starting to stir Sherlock’s stomach. He heard their order number called out, and John went over to grab the two foil parcels.  
“Come on, buddy.” He murmured as he pushed the warm bundle into his chest. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”  
They wandered along the street, joking about the scene they had just witnessed and munching on their late dinner. John talked about how he didn’t want to go to cadets camp tomorrow because they had the worst blankets to sleep on, and their sergeant made sure that no one was deprived of being screamed at. Sherlock listened to John’s stories, reassured him that no police car was going see them and arrest them, and furthermore reassured him that the school wouldn’t notice they had gone. With a large fight breaking out in the school, copious break-ins and stolen items, he assumed the probably had a lot of complaints from parents to deal with in the last few hours.

When they finally arrived back, there was a light on in the front foyer, and two teachers standing idly nearby, their heads nodding in conversation.  
“Come on.” Sherlock whispered to John as he tossed his crumpled foil behind him. “I know another place to get through.”  
They made their way to the far end of the school, John following closely behind him. He suddenly felt John tug on his coat anxiously, he glanced back at him and saw John pointing up at the school. Sherlock saw a student by the top floor pause, as if to notice them. The boy in the window stared at them, looked down at his phone, and they both sprinted the last few meters and threw themselves against the brick wall.  
“We’re behind the library, aren’t we?”  
“You guessed it” Sherlock winked as he pulled a set of keys from inside his coat. “The one and only stage exit.”  
“How on earth?” John trailed off, as he stared at the countless keys fastened to the link.  
“I spend a lot of time at school when there are few teachers around.” Sherlock stated, hoping that offered an explanation. John didn't need to know Sherlock had once slipped into the office during holidays to use the teachers espresso machine, and just so happened to collect a few spare keys with every visit to the office, or staff room. The key turned easily, and the door slid open. “Fortunately for us, there are no cameras in this school.”  
They emerged from the back stage/storage room of the library, making their way toward the front door. The lights had been switched off, except for the emergency exit signs which Sherlock followed, feeling around for the key which unlocked the exit next to the sliding doors.  
“Reckon none of the teachers will get us?” John whispered, as they stood outside the doors, glancing down the dark corridor. Yes they had made it this far, but students dorms were still two more flights upstairs.  
Sherlock tucked the keys into his back pocket where they couldn't make any noise, then looked at John.  
“You wait here then. Count to thirty, then run til you get to your room. Any teachers hanging around will run into me first, you’ll hear our voices before they catch you.” He didn’t need to explain once more that he was an A+ student with no chance of getting detention. John grinned at him and nodded.  
“Rodger, Rodger. See you after the holidays, if you survive.” His smile faltered slightly. “Better split up then.”  
Sherlock nodded, taking one last glance at John’s face before he turned away and rushed along the corridor. He kept his ears out, ready to catch the sounds of teachers footsteps, and perhaps, the faintest echo of John’s.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh still not enough lovey-dovey and angsty, even for me! but it's 3am in australia right now, and i'm tired as hell. sweet dreams to you all, and stay tuned for more ;) xxxx

Sherlock awoke, for the first time in his life, with his chest buzzing. He stared at the ceiling and blissfully let the memories from the night before wash over him. John catching his hand and pulling him inside an empty room; being inside John’s room for the first time, breaking the rules and leaving the school grounds after dark with John at his side, being literally on the run from the cops...it was still so much for Sherlock to take in.  
From atop his bedside table, Sherlock’s phone gave a little buzz, and beeped.  
He leisurely stretched out, leaned over and turned the phone screen towards him and opened the message.  
 _Txt me while im away yeah? ill b bored as hell. try not to get arrested while im gone lol_  
Sherlock bolted out of bed. John was leaving for cadets today! How could he forget! He pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed the first shirt he found and made his way to John’s dorm, picking up his pace when there was no one in sight. He saw something in the corner of his eye as he passed the huge windows facing the parking lot outside.  
He was too late.  
Down below he could see a group of boys huddled up in the early morning light, their names being read out as they boarded a long, dark grey bus. Sherlock easily narrowed out John; wearing a fitted white shirt; he looked as if he was almost glowing in the mist that blanketed the grounds. His anticipation was quickly replaced by disbelief as he pressed his forehead against the window and sighed. The glass fogged up and Sherlock tilted back, wiping the glass clean and still watching John, still hoping he would turn around and see him. He waited, but the fog outside was greedy, sleek and envious, as it ate into his vision. John's name was obviously the last to be called out, he hitched his bag over his shoulder and stepped into the bus.  
Sherlock's hands fell as drew away from the window; watching John disappear from sight was like watching the last of the sun’s rays disappear from earth. He made his way back towards his room, running his fingers through his hair and cursing himself for not setting an alarm. Maybe later on he’d text John, but it was very unlikely he’d get a reply until late at night, when the drill sergeants had left the boys alone.  
He played his violin for an hour, but stopped when the notes sounded mournful in his ears, he tried scribbling up a draft for his Business and Law assignment, but his writing was scrawled and untidy, even for his standards, and he flicked his pen away, leaving a black smear on his page. He sighed, frustrated.  
Bored. So unbelievably bored.  
As if on cue, his phone beeped at him. Sherlock snatched it up without time to blink, opening the first message in his shaking hands.  
 _Stop by home this weekend, if you would please. I would if I could. MH_  
Mycroft? What was his older brother doing at university that was so important, it meant he would skip out on his mothers good graces? Sherlock sighed and locked his phone, though he was going to take Mycroft’s advice this time and make his way home for the weekend. There was nothing at the school to keep him, and he certainly needed to move his belongings to a safer place.  
After taking two trips up and down the long stairs of the school, Sherlock finally had stripped his room of all it’s valuable possessions and stuffed them in the back seat of his car. Cursing the schools lack of elevators, he started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. Before headed home that day, he stopped at a hardware store that sold electronic safes.  
By late afternoon, he was turning exiting the main street, and using the remote kept near the gear stick to buzz himself underground his family’s apartment building. The car dipped into the vast garage, squeezing around the concrete pillars and echoing into the silence. Sherlock parked, grabbed his largest bag and electronic safe from the back seat, locked the car, and headed to the elevator. Just before the doors slid shut, he noticed a small purple car parked nearby.  
His aunt was visiting. Sherlock made a mental note to shoot Mycroft.


End file.
